


right into the bliss

by greyskiesblack



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Depression, Heavy Angst, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-18 12:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10617216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyskiesblack/pseuds/greyskiesblack
Summary: Prompto doesn't like himself, no matter how much the others try to convince him that he should.(mild Chapter 13spoilers)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompto's rooftop conversation with noctis broke my heart.  
> i've been sitting on this for over a month, worried it would be _way_ too angsty. a friend told me to post it anyway, so... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> title shamelessly stolen from [this beautiful song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keZEfasKgFs)

The thing is, Prompto knows _exactly_ what he looks like. Every freckle. Every scar. Every stretch-mark.

Every muscle. Every inch.

So he knows precisely how he looks next to Gladiolus. How for all his hard work, for all his stupid-early mornings and his _just a little further_ , he looks tiny. Scrawny.

Inadequate.

And it’s not like _inadequate_ is a new feeling for Prompto. He knows it down to his bones, down to the black stripes on his wrist. He knows.

But sometimes he catches Gladiolus staring at him like he _isn’t_ all the things he reminds himself of when he’s lying awake in the tent at night. Like there’s some amber-hued version of Prompto that’s all the things he’s _not_.

Which is kind of terrifying, because Prompto kind of ( _really)_ wants to be that version. The one that’s good enough to be stared at across the flickering campfire. The one that makes Gladiolus’ face break out in a slow, lazy smile.

Except the fire dims to embers, and Prompto has to lie awake in his sleeping bag with the _voices_ screaming at him. Someone like him, good enough for someone like Gladiolus?

Ridiculous.

He isn’t good enough. He’s worthless, completely-

Prompto hurls himself out of his sleeping bag, out of the tent. It isn’t until he’s on the edge of the haven, clutching at his elbows and trying not to burst out into _loud_ sobs that would _alarm_ people that he realises he’s fled.

Except there’s nowhere to go, unless he wants to brave the daemons.

He considers it, looking down into the darkness. The trees rustle, and Prompto takes six-seven-eight quick steps backwards.

Hands settle on his shoulders and stop him from tripping over something. Big hands. Warm hands.

“You okay?” Gladiolus’ voice is soft. Too loud.

“S-Sure.” Prompto squeaks out, his heart pounding his ribs, trying to escape.

“For a second I thought you were going to jump,” Gladiolus says, and his fingers _squeeze_ Prompto’s shoulders. Like he wants to hold on and stop him from jumping. But that’s ridiculous. _Ridiculous_.

“W-Who, me?” Prompto laughs nervously and finally turns around. The movement dislodges Gladiolus’ hands. Prompto fiddles with his hair, flicking his long fringe over his blushing cheeks. “No way. Scared of heights, remember?” He glances towards Gladiolus’ face, settles his gaze on his shoulder. The black lines of his raven tattoo make it look as though the darkness is running its long fingers over Gladiolus’ arms, his chest. Like it wants to swallow him up and take him away.

“I remember.” Gladiolus steps backwards. “Come on. I’ll make us some hot chocolate.”

Protests swim in Prompto’s mind. He just has to pick one - calories, eating before bed, doesn’t want one, ought to go back to sleep. He glances up towards Gladiolus’ face. Catches his gaze and looks away. “Okay,” he mumbles.

The voices scream at him so loudly that Prompto wants to kick himself. Or run back to the edge and jump. Stupid, idiot, what’s-wrong-with-you?

Gladiolus waves him to a chair and Prompto curls up in it, hugging his knees to his chest and watching Gladiolus from behind his hair. All those muscles, glinting in the dying firelight. The tattoo that looks like it’s shifting and warping in the shadows. Readying itself for flight.

Prompto pinches his arm. _Inadequate_.

Gladiolus drags his chair across from Prompto’s. Blocking the way back to the tent. And _then_ he hands over the steaming hot chocolate, the mug hot against Prompto’s fingers.

Prompto blows on it and watches Gladiolus. The voices in his head are all beginning to panic, and the feeling of being _trapped_ presses against his skin.

“I want to ask you something,” Gladiolus says, looking across the fire towards him. Prompto avoids his eyes. “Without you running away.”

Prompto opens his mouth to deflect with some quip. Closes it without saying anything.

“Back in Insomnia, you said you weren’t interested.” Gladiolus takes a sip of his drink, and Prompto tries _very_ hard not to remember the whole horrible conversation. His cheeks flush anyway, warmer than the mug in his hands. “Is that still true?”

Prompto takes a sip to drown the words climbing his throat. The hot chocolate is sweet and milky, exactly the way he would have made it for himself. “What makes you think it isn’t?” His voice is low.

“You stare an _awful_ lot for someone who says they’re not interested.” Gladiolus shrugs. Pauses for another mouthful of his hot chocolate. “And I was hoping you’d changed your mind.” His voice is almost too quiet to hear.

He’s lying. He has to be. Prompto grips the mug harder. The conversation flits through his head, like a nightmare he can’t escape.

He’d been in the arcade one afternoon after school. Noctis had _prince_ stuff to do, and Prompto was achingly bored without him. Gladiolus had shown up, brought him a roll of tokens. Which should have tipped him off, really, but Prompto was still half crushing on Noctis and hadn’t noticed much of anything that anyone else did.

And then Gladiolus’ face had been _way too close_ , like _kissing_ close. Prompto had squawked and fled. Because Noctis hadn’t been the _only_ one he was crushing on. Gladiolus had texted him an apology afterwards. That he’d misread the signals and he wouldn’t try to kiss him again. Unless Prompto was interested in that sort of thing, of course.

Which Prompto was. He _definitely_ was. But people like Gladiolus ought to kiss people more like… someone not him. So he lied, and that was that, until it wasn’t.

He’d _hoped_ Gladiolus had forgotten, the way Prompto hadn’t. It wasn’t like they spent much time together anyway, so surely he had no reason to remember.

But he kept staring. Kept watching out for Prompto in battle the way he watched out for Noctis and Ignis. Kept making the voices in Prompto’s head louder and louder.

The thing is, Prompto’s pretty certain that no one would catch him if he fell in love. After all, who’d want someone like him?

Prompto downs half the hot chocolate in a gulp. Clears his throat. Gladiolus is watching him. Like he’s _worth watching_.

“I-I can stop staring.” Prompto stammers out.

“If that’s what you want.” Gladiolus shrugs.

Prompto looks away, down into the fire. The blue is so bright it hurts his eyes if he looks too long. The truth snakes up from his stomach, claws its way into his throat. Prompto swallows.

“Yeah,” he lies. Swallows the rest of the hot chocolate. It tastes too sweet now, sickly and disgusting.

Almost as disgusting as he is.

Gladiolus’ fingers tighten around his mug. “Are you sure?” His voice is feather-soft, brushing against the inside of Prompto’s stomach, making him want to squirm and run.

“No. _Yes_.” Prompto shakes his head and hugs his knees tighter. Idiot, stupid, what kind of- “Y-Yes, I’m sure.”

Gladiolus’ gaze feels like its pinning him to the back of the chair. A butterfly, pinned to a frame. Except not a butterfly. Something uglier, something twisted. Something that ought to be stomped on, not tucked safely behind a piece of glass.

“Alright.” Gladiolus stands up and steps around the fire. Holds out his hand towards Prompto.

The _mug_. Prompto’s fingers shake when he passes it over by the handle.

Gladiolus sets the mugs away without cleaning them. Ignis will be _so grumpy_. “We’ll be in Galdin Quay tomorrow.” Gladiolus stretches his arms over his head. “Think Dino will make good on his promise?”

Prompto shrugs and swallows. “Lady Luna’s waiting, right?”

“Lucky Noct.” Gladiolus’ teeth shine in the darkness as he grins.

“Y-Yeah.” Prompto tucks his chin behind his knees.

“Feel sleepier?” Gladiolus crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at him.

Prompto hunches his shoulders. “I’ll be in soon.”

Gladiolus scoffs softly. “Well, g’night.”

“Night.”

He watches Gladiolus climb back into the tent, zip it up behind him.

Then Prompto watches the blue flames flicker and fade, and lets the voices _scream_ at him.

 

When Prompto wakes up, he’s back in the tent. Which is _definitely_ not where he fell asleep. He wriggles for a moment under the covers, checking his bracelets.

Safe and sound.

The smell of breakfast lures him outside.

Noctis shakes his head at him. “Sleepyhead,” he teases.

Prompto grins and rubs at the back of the head. “You know me! Needed my beauty sleep.” He winks before slouching towards the empty chair. Next to Gladiolus.

“Should’ve stayed in bed, then.” Noctis grins.

Prompto puts a hand over his heart in an exaggerated pose. “You _wound_ me, Noct.”

Noctis laughs, and Prompto can see Ignis shaking his head as he plates up breakfast.

He _very carefully_ doesn’t look at Gladiolus.

It’s easy to toss jokes back and forth with Noctis. By the time breakfast is done and the plates are cleaned, Prompto feels like he’s slipped back into his role. Put all his masks on, covering them over with more until there’s not a single crack remaining.

Except he can _feel_ Gladiolus watching him every so often. A weight against the back of his head, like the way Gladiolus’ fingers had curled in his hair when they’d _almost_ kissed. It lingers as they pile into the car, as Ignis adjusts the radio and sighs.

Thinking about Gladiolus touching him makes the voices louder. Prompto closes his eyes and feigns sleep on the long, dusty drive.

 

The thing is, nothing ends up the way it should. Insomnia is _gone_ , and even though Prompto doesn’t have much to miss, everyone _else_ does.

The drive back to the city is quiet except for Noctis’ outbursts. Prompto curls up into a ball on the front seat, kicking off his boots so he can hug his knees.

The voices scream at him the entire way. If he hadn’t been Noctis’ friend, someone _worthwhile_ would have survived. All those dead people and _he_ got to live? What a joke.

 

There’s something about watching Noctis get magically stabbed with a mystic sword that makes Prompto’s fingernails dig into his palms.

It takes him a minute to figure it out. Noctis is a _hero_ , and Prompto is a _no one_. He doesn’t belong here, not with a _prince_ , not with Ignis and Gladiolus, who are all so capable in ways he can never be.

Except as they fight their way back to the outpost, Cor, Cor the _Immortal_ compliments Prompto. Twice. _Twice_. One compliment might have been a polite gesture. But two… _maybe_ , just _maybe_ , Cor has a point. And Noctis grins at him the way he grins at Gladiolus, and Prompto’s chest fizzes with bubbling happiness. At least until Noctis’ smile slips and cracks. But Prompto knows that it’s not because of him. It _can’t_ be.

Ignis makes curry for dinner that night and even _smiles_ when he passes it to Prompto. It feels like a trick, a trap, but no matter how long Prompto waits, nothing terrible happens. When he meets Gladiolus’ eyes across the fire, Gladiolus gives him a gentle smile and rubs at the back of his neck, as if he’s _shy_.

That night, when the voices start screaming at him, Prompto uses Cor’s words and everyone’s smiles to silence them.

For a little while, it even works.

It’s not much, but it’s enough.

 

The days blur together. Go here, kill this. Go there, kill that. They camp under the stars and share motel rooms and eat diner food and Ignis’ cooking. Prompto stockpiles every compliment, every smile. There’s more than he deserves. Way more. It makes him feel like he’s drowning under the weight of them, scrambling for something solid to hold onto and finding nothing.

 

Eventually he follows Noctis up to the roof of the motel, guilt gnawing at his stomach. Noctis probably wants to be _alone_ , but here comes Prompto, barging in where he’s not wanted.

“Hey,” Prompto says nervously, hovering for a moment.

“Hey.” Noctis smiles up at him and waves a hand to the roof.

Prompto sits down quickly. His legs are trembling as though he’s been running all day.

Noctis almost makes it _easy_ to tell him. Even as the words tumble clumsily out his mouth, that he’s _worthless_ , Noctis doesn’t stop looking at him. Listening. He even grabs Prompto’s hand and squeezes it, and the black marks on Prompto’s wrist _burn_ like a secret.

“You’re not worthless,” Noctis says like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say. Like Prompto asked if the sky was blue and Noctis said “duh, Prompto.”

“A-Are you sure?” Prompto hates asking. Hates himself for asking.

Noctis grins at him and slings an arm around Prompto’s shoulders. His smile doesn’t even falter when Prompto flinches. “Sure I am. I’m only friends with the _best_ people.”

Prompto’s skin feels sticky-warm, and his face feels like he’s shoved it into an oven. “B-But… Noct, I’m your _only_ friend. At least the only one you don’t _pay_ for.” It’s easy to try to make light, but his voice wobbles on half the words. Prompto rubs at his face, fixes his hair.

Noctis twists around slightly and puts both hands on Prompto’s shoulders. “Like I _said_ , Prom. I’m only friends with the best people.” He’s looking intently at Prompto, like his face can say something his voice can’t. It’s like Noctis has borrowed Gladiolus’ eyes, the way he’s staring at Prompto like he’s _worth_ staring at.

“O-Oh.” Prompto looks down, stares at his knees. Noctis’ knees. Pokes at a loose thread by Noctis’ boot. “But-”

“I’m _sure_ ,” Noctis interrupts. “I’d tell you every day if it’d help.”

Prompto looks up and tries to smile, to brush it off. “Don’t be silly.” His heart is in his throat, squeezing it closed.

Noctis looks him over and drops his hands. Leans back on them. “Looking out for my friends isn’t silly. I wouldn’t be here without you. Without Iggy and Gladio.”

“I don’t make _that_ much difference-”

“Yeah, you do.” Noctis looks at him and furrows his brows. “ _Really_ , you do, Prom.”

“I-If you say so.” Prompto shrugs and looks away, towards the sprawling darkness around them. Rubs at his face and tries to capture the fizzing feeling in his chest, warm and skittish. Like Chibi - Pryna had been.

But Pryna had left to go back to her own home. Her _real_ home. Prompto slides a glance towards Noctis. None of them have _got_ homes anymore. Except for each other.

Prompto takes a deep breath. “Hey, Noct?”

“What’s up?” Noctis turns back from looking into the distance and smiles at Prompto.

“I… I know everything sucks. But…” Prompto twists his fingers together in his lap and looks down at them. The cuts and scabs from all the scrapes and monsters and _daemons_. He laces his fingers together so he can’t pick at them. “But I’m glad that if it has to suck, at least we’re all here together.”

Noctis bumps his shoulder against Prompto’s. “Me too. Even if Gladio _does_ snore.” He sighs dramatically and leans against Prompto.

“At least Gladio doesn’t hog the blankets like _someone else_ I know,” Prompto teases. It’s nice to lean back against Noctis. Like he’s _safe_. Prompto’s skin is warm where the two of them are touching, as though he’s lying under the summer sun, not cloudy stars.

“Speaking of Gladio…” Noctis tilts his head slightly and leans his chin on Prompto’s shoulder. “You wanna talk about it?”

“T-Talk about what?” Prompto looks away and fiddles with his bracelets.

Noctis huffs a breath that feels like _ice_ against the side of Prompto’s neck. Prompto yelps and elbows Noctis in the ribs. Or tries to, at least - Noctis is _fast_.

And laughing at him, a hand over his mouth to stay quiet. “Worth it,” he chokes out between laughs.

“You’re a _real_ jerk, you know that?” Prompto rubs at his neck, trying to warm his skin.

“Here.” Noctis knocks Prompto’s fingers away with his own. Toasty warm.

“I’m gonna worry about you zapping me in my sleep now,” Prompto mutters, fiddling with a fraying thread at his knee.

“Nah.” Noctis leans his head against Prompto’s shoulder. “But I’ll ice you again if you act all oblivious.”

Prompto shifts his weight and _definitely_ doesn’t squirm. “I… I don’t know what I wanna do about it.”

Noctis is quiet for a moment, toying with his unravelling shoelace. “I could tell him to leave you alone.”

“That’s… that’s not it,” Prompto mutters.

Noctis’ fingers still on the shoelace. “Then what is it?”

Prompto closes his eyes. Takes a breath. “I don’t know,” he lies.

“He really likes you, you know,” Noctis’ voice is quiet. “He always went easy on you in training.”

“That was _easy_?” Prompto’s eyes fly open.

“Compared to what me and Iggy got? Yeah.” Noctis tilts his head and grins. “You’re lucky.”

“Didn’t _feel_ lucky.”

“You could always _get_ lucky.”

Prompto elbows Noctis, his face hot. “Shut up.”

Noctis leans a little more against Prompto. He’s almost _too_ warm. “I just want you to be happy, Prom.”

Prompto glances down. Noctis has his eyes closed, his eyelashes stretching shadows down his cheeks. “I… I want that too,” he admits in a soft voice.

Noctis’ lips curl slightly in a smile. “Bet _Gladio_ would try to make you happy,” he teases.

Prompto’s face must be as red as the motel sign. “I’ll shove you off the roof.”

Noctis slits an eye open and grins. “I’d warp out.”

“Cheater.” Prompto shoves him away.

Noctis yawns and stretches his arms over his head. “Come on. It’s bedtime.”

“I’ll… be down in a minute.” Prompto looks away and fiddles with his bracelets.

Noctis hums. “Well, don’t take too long, or Iggy will have a fit.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Prompto waves him away.

Noctis waves back before vanishing from sight.

Prompto looks out into the night. It’s frightening, how easily he can picture it in his mind. Texting Gladiolus to meet him on the roof. Admitting the lie he’s been using for weeks. Months. How Gladiolus would pull Prompto into a hug and tell him that it didn’t matter. And he’d lean down and kiss him, the way he hadn’t in the arcade, all gentle and perfect and Gladiolus-y.

Prompto scoffs and looks down at his fingers. He pulled a scab off without realising, and now his palm is bleeding. Idiot. Stupid, good for nothing, _worthless_.

People like him don’t get rooftop kisses. People like _him_ ought to jump.

Besides, Noctis was probably lying to him. Just being nice, even though he doesn’t have to.

 

Someone clears their throat beside him. Prompto’s head jerks up from his knees.

“You know, we _did_ pay for a room,” Ignis says softly. “I imagine you’d sleep better in a bed.”

“I wasn’t…” Prompto trails off and moves his legs. Winces at the ache. “I was just thinking,” he mutters.

Ignis is crouched beside him, his cheeks red from the sign. “I can tell,” he mutters, nodding at Prompto’s hands.

Prompto follows his gaze. There’s blood all over his fingers. He hadn’t even realised he’d been picking at the scabs. “Oh.” He looks back up at Ignis, furrowing his brow. “Wait-”

“It’s my job to be observant. Come on. I’m sure we can find a potion somewhere.” Ignis holds out a hand and smiles.

Prompto reaches his fingers forward and stops. “I’ll get blood on you.”

“I'll wash my hands. Come on.” Ignis wriggles his fingers impatiently.

Prompto swallows and bites his lip. Slides his hand into Ignis’ and lets him help Prompto up. Stumbles a little as the blood rushes through his legs. “But I don’t need a potion,” he mumbles as Ignis puts a steadying hand on his back.

“Too bad.” Ignis drops his hands once Prompto is stable on his feet. “Royal order.”

Prompto’s eyes sting. If he wasn’t so useless - if he was better in fights - they wouldn’t have to waste a potion on him. “I guess there’s no arguing with that, huh?” His voice is light, teasing.

“Precisely.” Ignis leads the way back to the motel room.

The room is dark as Ignis quietly opens the door. The clock reads after two in the morning, and Prompto stares at Ignis’ back as he leads the way to the bathroom.

Prompto sits on the closed toilet and watches as Ignis rummages through the first aid kit. “How come _you’re_ up so late?” he asks quietly.

“I had… a lot on my mind.” Ignis glances towards him and then back down to the potion in his hands. “And Gladio snores.” He wets a washcloth and sits on the edge of the tub. Sets the potion in his lap and extends his hand.

Prompto swallows. “R-Really, it’s nothing-”

“Your hand, Prompto.” Ignis’ voice is icier than it was a moment ago.

Prompto tries not to flinch as Ignis wipes the blood away. If he was cleaning his hands himself, he’d _scrub_ until the blood was gone. But Ignis is gently wiping it away. Carefully. Like he doesn’t want to hurt Prompto, as if a handful of scratches and shallow cuts could _hurt_.

“You should be more careful,” Ignis says as he lets Prompto’s hand go and waits for the other. Prompto tries not to squirm as Ignis’ thumb pushes the bracelets aside to hold his palm in place. “These could’ve gotten infected.”

“But it’d be a waste to use a potion,” Prompto protests.

Ignis raises his head to _stare_ , and Prompto looks down at his knees. The cloth is wet against his fingers. Ignis had even used _warm_ water. Ignis takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out as he continues wiping at Prompto’s hand.

“It’s not a waste, Prompto.”

Prompto’s shoulders twitch. Ignis’ tone was _very_ don’t-argue-with-me, but the words are pressing against the inside of his lips, forcing them open. “But-”

“No.” Ignis’ fingers gently squeeze around Prompto’s. “You need to be able to protect the prince, don’t you? What if you cut your trigger fingers and couldn’t shoot?”

“But Noct doesn’t need _me_ to protect him.” Prompto wants to pull his fingers away. It’s _weird_.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ignis turns Prompto’s hand over and starts wiping away more blood.

Prompto watches Ignis’ fingers. His hands are colder than Noctis’ are. “But you and Gladio…”

“Gladio and I have trained for a _lot_ longer than you. And I can recall several times where you’ve saved Noct all by yourself, Prompto.” Ignis sets the cloth down on his knee and lets Prompto’s hand go to unscrew the bottle.

Prompto shakes his head, his cheeks warm. “He would’ve saved himself if I hadn’t-”

“Prompto.” Ignis says quietly. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t worthy of it.”

Prompto opens his mouth. Closes it and swallows. He feels like he’s been knocked to the ground by a sabertusk, and it’s digging its claws into his chest. “But…” His voice is weak.

Ignis dabs some of the potion onto Prompto’s cuts with a steady finger. “You could’ve turned tail and ran after… after what happened. But you chose to stay with Noct.” Ignis looks up and smiles faintly at him. “It makes you almost as brave as the prince.”

Prompto shakes his head back and forth. He isn’t _brave_. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go. No one would _want_ him. And what good is someone that can take _photos_? He’s not good at anything, he’s useless, he’s-

Ignis is squeezing his hands. “Prompto.”

“I-I-Let me go.” Prompto twists his hands away.

Ignis lets go immediately.

Prompto tucks his hands into his lap, twining his fingers together. The potion is sticky against his skin, sending waves of ice through his hands.

He can feel the weight of Ignis’ stare. See his fingers curling around the cloth, squeezing it in his fingers. “Forgive me, Prompto.”

Prompto shakes his head. “I-It’s…” He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. Shoves it all down, _down_. “Thanks, Ignis.”

There’s a pause. Prompto can hear cloth rustling, _feel_ Ignis standing up. “Very well. Do you want to share with Noct or Gladio?”

Prompto shakes his head again and shrugs his shoulders. Opens his eyes and looks down at his hands. The cuts are nothing more than pink, new skin, fading to white as he watches.

“Very well.” There’s the sound of the tap running. Water dripping. “Good night, Prompto.”

“G’night.” The word scrapes past his throat like sandpaper.

He waits, hugging his knees to his chest. He ought to get up, clean his teeth. Go to bed, curl up under the blankets. Warm and soft, a _real_ bed.

It’d be _weird_ if he slept in the bathroom. And even though he doesn’t _deserve_ warm blankets and soft beds, being weird, letting the masks slip… That’s worse.

 

Ignis is curled beside Noctis. Prompto sucks in a silent breath, narrowing his eyes. He’d hoped he’d open the door to see Ignis and Gladiolus sharing. Noctis is the best to sleep next to. But of course he _deserves_ to lie awake all night, terrified of bumping an arm or a leg into Gladiolus.

He hovers by the bed for a moment, sliding his belt off. He doesn’t want to. He really, really _doesn’t want_ to. But exhaustion is seeping through his bones, forcing him to sit gingerly on the edge of the bed. To slide down onto the mattress, curling on his side and trying to be as small and unobtrusive as possible.

Gladiolus stirs and shifts slightly closer. Prompto swallows his squeak of surprise and scuttles to the _very_ edge of the bed. If Gladiolus moves again, he’s going to end up on the floor. Maybe he ought to just start there. Lie about falling out.

Prompto yawns into his hand. The bed is awfully comfortable, though. Even if it’s the edge. Even if he can’t move. He yawns again and closes his eyes.

 

He’s alone when he wakes up, and panic sends him skittering around the room. They left him behind. Why _wouldn’t_ they leave him behind - but there’s bags still scattered everywhere, and toothbrushes in the bathroom. They didn’t _leave_ him. But they didn’t want him around, didn’t wake him up-

The door opens and Prompto whirls, his hand flying to his wrist and _checking_.

“Thought you were gonna sleep _forever_ ,” Noctis teases as he crosses the room. Somehow he manages to kick off his boots before flopping face-first onto the bed.

“Where-”

“Iggy’s getting supplies, Gladio’s getting breakfast.” Noctis rolls over to look at him. “No one wanted to wake you up.”

Prompto sits on the edge of the other bed. “Why not?” He asks, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. No one wanted him around.

“Cause you need your beauty sleep.” Noctis grins.

Prompto looks away and runs his hand through his hair. “Oh.” Stupid, of course they wouldn’t _admit_ it-

“And because we were worried,” Noctis adds, sitting up and putting his elbows on his knees. “Iggy said you were sleeping on the roof.”

Prompto picks at the blanket beside him. “I wasn’t _sleeping_ -”

“And Gladio said you kept him awake because you were tossing and turning so much.” Noctis is staring at him. Like Prompto is a puzzle he wants to figure out.

Prompto ducks his head. He should have slept on the _floor_. “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry-”

Noctis surges forward like a wave. His arms go around Prompto’s neck and the weight of him knocks them both against the bed. Prompto wants to panic and twist himself free, he’s _trapped_ -

“You’re not worthless, Prom,” Noctis’ breath is hot against Prompto’s ear. He’s squeezing Prompto hard enough to hurt. “You’re _awesome_ , and brave, and one the coolest people I know-”

“M’not.” Prompto’s voice is muffled by Noctis’ shoulder. It’s too much, Noctis is too close, it’s too, too-

“Are too.” Noctis shoots back, hugging harder. “Why can’t you _believe_ me?”

Prompto swallows and wriggles. Noctis lets him go and shifts away until they’re lying side by side. “Cause it’s not true,” Prompto finally whispers, his fingers itching with the urge to tug at his bracelets.

Noctis is watching him from behind his hair. “You’re…” He swallows and rolls onto his back, crossing his arms behind his head. “You’re not the only one that feels worthless, you know.”

Prompto blinks. He feels like he must have heard wrong, but Noctis has his eyes closed as though he doesn’t want to open them.

“But you’re the _prince_ ,” Prompto splutters. “How…” Prompto sits up and crosses his legs, looking down at Noctis’ face. There's so many reasons why Noctis is _wrong_ that Prompto doesn't know which to start with.

“The way…” Noctis covers his eyes with his elbow. “The way you feel about me being worthless is how I felt when _you_ said it.”

“What?” Prompto leans forward. He feels dizzy, like he’s been running too far, too fast.

“You want to tell me how awesome I am, right? How cool and wonderful and whatever else, yeah?” Noctis moves his arm and squints up at Prompto.

“Y-Yeah.” Prompto nods. “Because it’s _true_.”

“Well, that’s how I feel about you, Prom.” Noctis sighs and closes his eyes.

Prompto shakes his head. “But you’re a _prince_ and-”

“And _you’re_ my best friend.”

“But Gladio and Iggy-”

“They’re like brothers. I didn’t choose them any more than they chose me. But I picked _you_ , Prom. I would’ve been your friend in middle school if you hadn’t run away every time I tried to apologise-”

Prompto shakes his head. “Apologise? But… But I wasn’t… I wasn’t good enough-”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You were always good enough.”

“But-”

Noctis opens his eyes and stares straight up at him. “No matter what, Prom. You’re good enough.”

Prompto looks away, towards the faded blanket beside Noctis’ head. “Well… So are you.”

Noctis sits up and hugs his knees to his chest. “I hope so.” He gives Prompto a faint smile. “Be a little embarrassing if I’m not, right?”

Prompto meets Noctis’ gaze for a moment. He dives forward, getting a knee to the chest and landing uncomfortably on top of his friend. He doesn’t know what to say, can’t say anything.

Noctis wraps his arms around Prompto, hugging him back. “It’ll be okay, Prom.” He squeezes Prompto tighter, his hands warm against Prompto’s back. “We’re in this together, right?”

“Right,” Prompto mumbles against Noctis’ neck. He can’t tell if it’s his own skin or Noctis’ that’s radiating heat.

The door bangs open and Gladiolus clears his throat. “You know, you could’ve put a sock on the door.”

Noctis’ grip tightens for a moment before he squirms away from Prompto. “Very funny, Gladio,” he mutters in a dry tone.

“It-” Prompto’s voice cracks into a squeak. He scrambles to sit on the side of the bed as Gladiolus drops the bags of take-out on the other bed. “It’s not like that,” he protests, running his hands through his hair. He feels something desperate and wild curling around the pit of his stomach, rolling it into knots.

Gladiolus grunts and sits next to the food, kicking off his boots. “Think Iggy’ll get grumpy if we eat without him?”

“I’ll text him.” Noctis edges off the bed and gets his phone from the table.

Prompto hugs his knees to his chest. The smell of food - greasy and hot and probably _delicious_ is making his stomach even knottier. Food like that… He swallows. It isn’t worth it. It’s never worth it.

But he’s hungry, and Gladiolus pats the bed near him, beckoning Prompto over.

Prompto hasn’t eaten a burger since middle school. He’s been careful, _so careful_ , not to slide back into the person he used to be. Sad and alone, eating trashy food and feeling like trash for it. He’s gotten good - _so good_ \- at pretending to eat around Noctis. All those lazy afternoons spent ditching Ignis and ditching homework, hiding out in fast food joints and arcades. Noctis was always hungry, and as long as Prompto ate some fries, nibbled at the edges of the burgers, Noctis would always finish his meals.

But Noctis is texting Ignis, and Gladiolus is shoving a paper-wrapped burger into Prompto’s hands. Prompto has no way to escape when his stomach growls loud enough that Gladiolus looks up at him, his brow furrowing.

“Maybe I ought to get you another, if you’re so hungry.”

“No, no.” Prompto shakes his head and holds the burger up. “I’m good with this.”

Gladiolus gives him a piercing look and Prompto drops his gaze. There’s grease slowly permeating through the paper, slimy and _gross_ against his hands.

“Yeah.” Noctis sits on the other bed and leans forward, holding a hand towards Gladiolus and wriggling his fingers. “Prom’s never liked burgers anyway.”

“Who doesn’t like _burgers_?” Gladiolus mutters, passing one over to Noctis.

Prompto lets out a nervous chuckle and unwraps enough of his food to take a slow, tiny bite. A rabbit-nibble. It tastes like he’s eight, ten, twelve years old all over again. Lonely and alone, an empty house. Dreaming - _hoping_ \- that something would come along like it did in the comics, in the cartoons. A wave of a magic wand and his life wouldn’t be so _heavy_ , wouldn’t be dragging him down. Something that made waking up less of a chore.

His chest feels tight. The burger sticks in his throat as he swallows. Luna. Lady Luna, who might be dead, and here he is, sad over _eating_ something.

He can hear Noctis and Gladiolus talking. Hear the door open again as Ignis enters the room. But it’s all coming through a haze, and Prompto can’t figure out the words. And what does he need to hear them for, anyway? He’s useless, an idiot, he ought to just choke on his disgusting, greasy burger and _die_ -

“Hey, Prom.” Noctis sits beside him, bumping their elbows together. “You okay?”

“Sure.” Prompto gives a smile that hurts his face. “Just thinking about how _awesome_ this tastes.” He takes another bite and tries not to grimace. He’d rather have Ignis’ cooking. Or nothing.

Noctis hums under his breath. “Well, if you’re sure.”

Prompto isn’t _sure_ of anything. He takes another bite and chokes it down.

 

Later, when they're in the car and Ignis is driving them towards _another_ hunt, Noctis taps Prompto on the shoulder.

"Hey, lend me your phone?" Noctis is grinning at him.

Prompto passes it over. "Why?"

Noctis hums softly. "You'll see."

Prompto doesn't like the sound of that. He glances back towards the road as they drive along. Whatever Noctis is doing, it's taking _forever_.

There's another tap on his shoulder. Prompto swivels around in his seat. Noctis is beaming at him. "Here."

"What'd you do?" Prompto takes his phone, torn between worry and suspicion.

"You'll see." Noctis leans back in his seat and crosses his arms behind his head. "Nap time!" He closes his eyes pointedly.

Prompto sits back properly in his seat, before Ignis tells him off. He flicks his screen on and squints down at it.

Noctis has changed his wallpaper. It's an old photo - one of the first Prompto took of them together. They're in their uniforms, grinning like dorks - Prompto can't remember why. And there's _sparkling_ black text over the bottom half the photo - 'you're awesome, Prom.'

No matter how much he swipes, the words follow him. Noctis changed all of his app positions so they can't block the words out. He _would_. He shouldn't have. He's _wrong_. Prompto closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

Sends a text message, even though he feels a little silly for it.

"You're awesome too, Noct."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this _does_ end up deserving the "angst with a happy ending" tag, but i felt uncomfortable using it when this chapter does not, in fact, end happily.  
>  anyway. it's not all doom and gloom. the next chapter is better, i promise ♥


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i meant to get this finished sooner, but... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It’s been weeks since the motel. The days are blurred together with rain and mud. Go here, kill this. Gladiolus wants to go to Lestallum, to find his sister. Prompto wants to see the chocobo ranch up close. Ignis wants to see the Disc, glittering smoke at night.

Noctis considers for a long few moments. “Chocobos.” He yawns and stretches his arms over his head. “They’re on the way to everything else.”

Prompto feels a wave of giddy excitement rush through him. And then guilt, smothering it back down. “R-Really, Noct? Are you sure?” How can Noctis pick _chocobos_ , what _Prompto_ wants when everyone else wants something different, something better-

“Yeah.” Noctis nods. “Definitely chocobos.”

Prompto looks down and fiddles with his bracelets. He knows he _shouldn’t_ , that they have to notice. He’d notice. But he can’t stop himself from rubbing his thumb over the worn leather, the metal studs. “But-”

“No buts.” Gladiolus grunts, stretching his legs out on the floor of the caravan. “Iris can take care of herself, after all.”

“And the Disc has stood for thousands of years,” Ignis chimes in. “It’s not going anywhere. Well, I would _hope_ not.”

“See?” Noctis bumps his shoulder against Prompto’s. “They _totally_ want to race chocobos with us.”

Prompto can’t stop himself from smiling, from letting out a laugh that isn’t entirely faked. Ignis and Gladiolus are both making faces, but neither of them seem willing to contradict what Noctis said, either.

Ignis pushes his glasses up his nose. “Yes, well. I’ve always been curious-”

“Ah, admit it,” Gladiolus says, poking Ignis’ foot with his own. “You wanna ride one.”

“Is there anyone who _wouldn’t_?” Noctis grins and stretches his arms over his head. “C’mon, Prom.”

“R-right.” They’d already played rock-paper-scissors for the bed. Ignis and Gladiolus lost out on the first round. It’s a little awkward to climb around Gladiolus on the way to the bed, but Prompto manages not to trip. Barely.

It’s nice, sharing a bed with Noctis. He’s always warm when it’s cold and cool when it’s hot. Prompto always feels the most ridiculous urge to snuggle up to him, like his very own temperature-controlled human teddy bear. Except he shouldn’t curl around his best friend like a pillow at home. He really shouldn’t.

But when he wakes up in the middle of the night, his face is buried against Noctis’ neck, an arm slung around his best friend’s waist. Prompto’s skin feels instantly cold, even though Noctis is warm beside him. He _knows_ Gladiolus is asleep, but that doesn’t stop Prompto from feeling eyes on his back, staring and wondering.

For a moment, Prompto can almost imagine what it would be like if it _was_ Gladiolus beside him. Guilt twists through him, sharp and sudden enough to make tears spring to his eyes, hot against Noctis’ skin. He sniffles, trying desperately to be quiet.

Noctis stirs beside him and hooks an ankle around Prompto’s legs as he curls closer.

Prompto’s heart skitters and stops in his chest.

It’s not like Noctis hasn’t snuggled up to him before. It’s not like they haven’t all woken up in a tangled pile during cold mornings in the tent. But the voices are _screaming_ in Prompto’s head, and he’s afraid to breathe too hard in case he bursts into tears.

Noctis mumbles something and presses closer to Prompto, practically burying his face against Prompto’s chest. His breath is even hotter than his skin, searing against Prompto’s collarbone. Noctis shifts, nudging even closer, his arm between them.

Of _course_ the angle of Noctis’ hand hits Prompto _just so_. He sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut. Now he has to pee, like _really has to_ , and the bathroom - the public one, he’d wake everyone up - is not only past Gladiolus on the floor, but out in the _dark_.

Okay, it’s not _really_ dark. There’s lights all around the gas station, filtering through the gaps in the curtains. But it’s still _night_ , and that’s dark enough for Prompto. He takes a deep breath and moves - the barest fraction of an inch.

Noctis doesn’t stir. Prompto edges away, bit by bit. He’s almost free when Noctis’ eyes slit open and gleam in the darkness, a hand reaching for Prompto’s wrist. His fingers are cold, almost icy, digging between Prompto’s bracelets and into his skin.

“I gotta _pee_ , Noct,” Prompto whispers. “Leggo.”

Noctis closes his eyes. His grip tightens for a second before it relaxes. “Oh,” he breathes as he opens his eyes. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” Prompto grins towards him, but Noctis’ eyes are closed, his hand tangled in his own hair.

Prompto slides out of the bed, trying to be as quiet as possible. He _feels_ like a behemoth, trampling and stumbling around Gladiolus’ outstretched form, past Ignis on the narrow couch. But if he wakes anyone else up, they don’t make it obvious.

He probably woke them up. Prompto leans against the cool metal of the outside door, breathing in the cool night air. The bathroom can’t be more than thirty feet away, but it feels like three hundred. The light above him flickers softly. Prompto swallows hard. He’s not going to _die_ by going to the bathroom. Probably. Maybe.

 

When he steps out of the building there’s a shadow against the caravan. Prompto reaches for his guns as his vision adjusts. Gladiolus, leaning against the door.

His guns vanish before even taking proper form. Gladiolus pushes himself off the door and gives Prompto a faint smile.

Prompto stops a handful of steps away. Out of reach. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” His whisper carries in the quiet night. He hangs his head, half afraid, half apology.

“You didn’t.” Gladiolus takes a step and stops. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Prompto studies Gladiolus’ bare feet. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Gladiolus’ voice is gruff. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Prompto swallows. “You did?” He feels like smacking himself after he says it, but it’s too late to snatch the words out of the air. Gladiolus just _said_ that he wanted to talk to him, why is Prompto always so… always so _stupid_?

“Yeah.” Gladiolus crosses his arms over his chest. Uncrosses them. “It doesn’t have to be now, though…” He pauses and takes a tiny step closer. Prompto stares at his feet. “Are you cold?”

“What?” Prompto looks up. Gladiolus’ face is furrowed with concern.

He nods towards Prompto’s arms. They’re covered in goosebumps. Prompto hadn’t noticed. “Oh.” He rubs at his arms. “I’m okay.”

Gladiolus exhales sharply. “If you say so.”

Prompto nods and looks back down. The air feels heavy with awkwardness. Prompto wants to run into the caravan and bang the door behind him, except that would wake Noctis and Ignis up and that’s worse than standing out here in the cold. Which he is, now that Gladiolus pointed it out.

Gladiolus takes another step forward. He’s close enough that Prompto could reach out and shove him away, if he wanted to. He kind of wants to. Why does he have to be so close, anyway? Why can’t he just go back inside and leave Prompto _alone_ and-

“You’re _shaking_ ,” Gladiolus grumbles. He takes another step forward and wraps his arms around Prompto, so quickly that Prompto isn’t aware it’s happening until it’s happened.

It’s warm against Gladiolus’ chest. Prompto can hear something pounding, but he can’t tell if it’s Gladiolus’ heart against his ear or his own thumping in his throat. “W-Wh-”

“You don’t eat enough, kid.” Gladiolus’ voice is gruff. “Not enough meat on your bones to keep you warm.”

Prompto opens his mouth and shuts it. Tries to swallow, but his throat is too dry. The door to the caravan is _right_ there, why won’t Gladiolus just let him go so he can curl back up under the blankets with-

Prompto shivers. Gladiolus hugs him tighter, curling his arms around Prompto’s shoulders. He _is_ warm, way warmer than Prompto. Even if he doesn’t have a shirt on. Prompto’s heart twitches in his chest. A wave of anxiety rises in his stomach. He lifts his hands to push Gladiolus away, but their chests are pressed together and he doesn’t know what to _do_ and his fingers dance through the air until he gives up and drops them back down.

Prompto swallows. “What do you _want_ from me?” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut.

Gladiolus’ hands tighten and then immediately relax. He rubs at Prompto’s skin. “I want you to be happy, and sometimes it seems like you’re not.”

The quiet words slice through him like one of Ignis’ fancy chef knives. Prompto’s shoulders twitch. A dozen lies bubble up his throat and die away before he can spit them out. He feels transparent. As though he’s made of glass, and Gladiolus can see right through him.

Like Gladiolus can drop him and watch him shatter.

Prompto squirms away, expecting Gladiolus to trap him with his arms. Except he lets go, and Prompto almost trips over his own feet.

Gladiolus steadies him with a hand, and Prompto can _feel_ the weight of Gladiolus’ stare. Waiting for a response. Waiting for _something_. Prompto doesn’t know where to start, how to explain that there’s nothing worth waiting _for_. That there’s nothing worth staring at.

Prompto clutches at his elbows. Gladiolus crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles tense.

“What are you so afraid of?” Gladiolus’ voice is quiet. Like the wind brushing through the trees around them. It’s getting colder by the second, and part of Prompto wants to press back against Gladiolus’ warm, sturdy chest.

Prompto carefully takes a step backwards. “I-I’m not afraid.”

“You’re shaking.” Gladiolus points out.

“S’cold.” Prompto says, feeling desperation climbing through his stomach.

“Thought you said you weren’t cold.” Gladiolus sounds frustrated.

Prompto glances up. Gladiolus is looking at him with an expression Prompto can’t figure out. “I-”

“Please,” Gladiolus’ voice cracks slightly. “Stop lying.”

Prompto sucks in a breath. The air burns his throat. He had dozens of perfect responses to almost anything Gladiolus would say. Except that. And the more he scrambles to think of one, the more his excuses crumble into dust. The silence stretches, making it _obvious_ that he was lying. He's a liar, a good for _nothing_ -

“You,” he says before he can stop himself. “Everything. I don’t know.” He hugs himself tighter. If he answers, maybe Gladiolus will leave him alone. Let him go back inside.

“Why are you afraid of _me_?” Gladiolus’ voice sounds wounded. Like Prompto _hurt_ him, which is ridiculous, because Gladiolus is strong and amazing and _untouchable_.

Prompto sneaks a glance upwards. Gladiolus’ brows are furrowed. He’s still staring at Prompto, his eyes glinting dark in the yellowish light. “Because-” He shakes his head wildly, twisting his hands together in front of him. He doesn’t know how to put it into words, what words to use. “You’re terrifying,” Prompto whispers. His voice cracks.

Gladiolus is very quiet. And very still. “I see.” His voice sounds flat. Prompto doesn’t risk glancing up.

Gladiolus takes a step and Prompto flinches before he can stop himself. The caravan door opens, and Gladiolus waves a hand. “Go on.”

Prompto steps out of his boots and picks them up in a trembling hand. Climbs the steps with wooden legs. Sets his boots down and tip-toes towards the bed. Noctis has hogged most of the blankets, making a weird, lumpy pile on half the bed. Ignis is curled into the couch pillows.

Prompto creeps into the bed and tugs a corner of blanket free. He doesn’t deserve to be warm, the voices scream at him. He ought to sleep outside, in the cold and the wind. With the gravel scraping at his skin until there’s nothing left.

Noctis grumbles and rolls over. His eyes are gleaming in the darkness. “C’mere,” he mumbles, lifting an arm and making an opening in the blankets.

Prompto doesn’t want to. He _shouldn’t_. But Noctis keeps his arm up and yawns into his other hand while he waits.

Prompto moves before he can change his mind, huddling under the blankets. Noctis’ arm drops around his shoulder, pulling him in close and _warm_. Prompto hadn’t even realised how cold he was.

He can hear Gladiolus outside, stomping back and forth. Prompto huddles closer to the warmth of the blanket (and subsequently Noctis) and tries to ignore it. Tries not to feel guilty about it. Tries. Fails.

Gladiolus comes back inside, closes the door quietly behind him. Prompto can hear the rustling of Gladiolus lying back down. His quiet sigh.

Noctis squirms against Prompto. “It’ll be okay,” he breathes in Prompto’s ear.

Prompto squeezes his eyes shut. Tries to believe it.

Fails.

 

Gladiolus texts him while they’re driving to the ranch.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

Prompto almost wants to turn around and stare at him. He taps a finger against the screen for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. How to say it. Gladiolus didn’t even _do_ anything he has to apologise for. Not to Prompto. He chews at his bottom lip as he stares at the screen.

“It’s okay.” He sends it before he can change his mind. Which he does, the second it’s too late to _unsend_ the message.

Gladiolus doesn’t reply right away. Prompto’s hands are sweaty enough that his phone feels like a wet bar of soap. He drops it into his lap, wipes his hands on his pants.

When it _finally_ vibrates, Prompto is afraid to turn the screen on. He can feel Gladiolus staring at the back of his head. Prompto hunches his shoulders and reads the message.

“And I wanted you to know that I’d never hurt you. I’m really sorry you think that of me. And I hope one day you don’t think I’m terrifying.”

There’s no emoji, no sticker to help Prompto figure out what the words mean. He stares at his screen, turning the words over in his head. He feels like he’s staring at a puzzle piece that doesn’t match the one he’s trying to put together.

It hits him suddenly as Ignis drives over a bump.

Prompto _wants_ to turn around and flap his hands at Gladiolus, explain that he got it _totally wrong_. But it’s not a conversation he wants everyone to hear.

“I don’t think you’d hurt me! Not like that. I didn’t… I’m sorry.” He adds a sticker, someone bowing repeatedly until it times out and becomes a static image.

The response is almost instant. “Then why do you think I’m so scary?”

Prompto slides down in his seat. He’s _really_ glad that he’s not in the backseat today. Like, _really_ glad. His face is burning red from just a text message. Sitting next to Gladiolus - bumping knees when the car goes around a corner… It’d be too much. Too _obvious_.

His phone vibrates again. Another message - from Noctis. Prompto frowns and opens it.

“JUST TELL HIM!”

Prompto’s mind goes blank. No _way_ -

“OR I WILL!!” Noctis sends a sticker tapping its foot angrily, its arms crossed and glaring.

“No, don’t!” Prompto sends as quickly as he can. “Please.”

He can hear Noctis’ sigh over the music from the radio.

“Fine. But you really should, you know.”

Prompto swallows. It’s not that _easy_ , he wants to say. Not like it would be for someone like Noctis, someone like Ignis. Someone that isn’t like _him_.

He switches back to the conversation with Gladiolus. He needs to reply, but it’s not like he can tell the _truth_. Not all of it, at least. Not even half. He chews at his bottom lip and types out the beginning of a response. Deletes it. Tries again. Deletes it. Nothing feels _right_. And he’s _definitely_ not going to listen to Noctis’ opinion. It’s not like he’d _really_ do something like that.

“I never know what to say to you.” Prompto stares at the message for almost an _entire_ song before pressing send.

“You worry too much. Say whatever you want. I don’t bite.”

Prompto huffs out a breath. Gladiolus doesn’t _get_ it. What if Prompto says something dumb, like _super_ dumb, and it makes Gladiolus look at him like he’s something awful, something hideous? What if he _ruins_ everything, like he ruined his first meeting with Noctis? Or even worse? What if he says something _so stupid_ that they decide not to let him stick around any longer? What if he wakes up and they’re really _gone_ , they’ve really left him in a hotel room all alone and-

Prompto kicks his boots off and curls into a ball. Yawns dramatically, stretching his arms over his head. Angles his body towards the door, away from Ignis.

Prompto makes himself as small as possible. It’s too late to change their minds. He wants to see the chocobos so much it makes his chest ache, but he doesn’t deserve to be so happy. He doesn’t deserve _anything_.

He wriggles his phone free from his lap. Flicks on the screen and stares at the wallpaper.

‘You’re awesome, Prom.’

It isn’t true, but he wishes it was.

 

The chocobos are an amazing distraction. They manage to silence the voices in Prompto’s head for a few hours. _Hours_ of thinking about nothing more than what’s in front of him, what he’s doing. Even when he loses the chocobo races - first to Noctis, then to Gladiolus, _then_ to Ignis - Prompto doesn’t care. The day is sparkling sunshine happiness. He takes enough photos to fill his camera memory up _twice_.

It’s the most perfect, _best_ day ever. They flop around the tables while waiting for their dinner, exhausted and dusty and all of them _stinking_ like chocobos.

Wiz grins at them as he sets down the plates. “You boys could use some baths.”

“See?” Gladiolus nudges Noctis with an elbow. “Told you that you stink.”

“Shut up, Gladio.” Noctis rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Wiz.”

The man nods and moves away, chuckling as he goes.

Prompto picks at his food. He’s too excited to be hungry. Too tired to chew. They’re going to _stay_ at the ranch overnight, which means he’ll get to wake up and there will be chocobos. Just there. Like they’re waiting for him. Well, they’re not, but maybe he can help feed them breakfast or something. Noctis tried to feed one earlier and almost lost a hand.

It was _hilarious_. Even Ignis cracked a smile. And of course, Prompto got the whole thing on camera. He isn’t sure what’s better, Noctis’ expression or the chocobo’s.

“Who gets the first bath, anyway?” Noctis asks between bites of his food.

“Rock-paper-scissors?” Ignis suggests.

Prompto loses in the first round. Then Gladiolus. Noctis, unsurprisingly, wins. He looks awfully smug about it. Prompto is _pretty sure_ Ignis lost on purpose.

“There’ll be no hot water left by the time it’s my turn,” Gladiolus mutters.

“Sucks to be you.” Noctis grins and elbows him.

“I’m sure there will be plenty for everyone,” Ignis says dryly. “Especially since Noct is going to have a nice, short shower.”

“I am?” Noctis looks up and frowns. Ignis frowns right back. Noctis sighs. “Sure. Okay.”

Prompto giggles between bites. Yeah. Definitely the most perfect day, even if he probably _will_ end up having a horribly cold shower. There were chocobos. It was worth it.

 

After they’re done eating Prompto goes back to loitering by the chocobo stables. Well, they’re not _really_ stables when they’re all open like this. The chocobos are finishing up their own dinners, leafy green vegetables that made Noctis recoil in horror.

He takes a few lazy pictures. There’s no point hurrying back to the caravan when he’s got like, _an hour_ to kill before they’re all done fighting over the showers. And Noctis borrowed his phone, something about checking his Zell trees or something. Just as long as he doesn’t change Prompto’s wallpaper again. He’s starting to _like_ the reminder at the bottom of the screen. Even if it’s not true.

The nearest chocobo is watching him with shining eyes. Prompto wiggles his fingers in a wave. “Hi, chocobo.”

The chocobo eyes him harder, as though it’s glaring. Like Ignis. Prompto grins and takes a photo. The chocobo turns its head and fluffs its wings out.

“You’re so _cute_.” Prompto puts his head on his hand and sighs.

“That’s what I was thinking,” a voice says from his side.

Prompto jerks upright, tripping over his feet and the posts and _everything_. “W-What?”

Gladiolus is smiling at him. “You heard me.”

Prompto looks down at the ground. “The… The chocobo, right?” He asks his toes.

“No, not the chocobo.” Gladiolus crosses his arms over his chest. “You.”

Prompto’s face is burning hot. He clears his throat awkwardly. “I…” He glances up, barely makes it to Gladiolus’ shoulders before he drops his gaze. “Um.”

“You should take more selfies,” Gladiolus says, leaning against the post. The chocobo looks exceptionally unimpressed with him. “With the chocobos and everything.”

“I should?” Prompto’s too confused to be embarrassed. “But…”

“It’s not just _our_ journey, you know.” Gladiolus reaches out and lazily strokes the chocobo’s neck. It eyes him like it’s considering biting off his hand.

“But…” Prompto fiddles with his camera. “I should?”

Gladiolus rubs at a spot under the chocobo’s beak. Its wings start flapping. “Yeah. You should.”

Prompto lifts a hand and tries to fiddle with his hair. It’s caked with dried mud from falling out of the saddle earlier. He lowers his hand and makes a face. “Okay.” He tells Gladiolus’ belt.

“Good. But you should get a shot of me and this little love-bug first.” Gladiolus is still rubbing at the chocobo’s neck. It’s practically cooing at him.

Prompto grins and takes a couple of shots. Gladiolus was caught off guard, makes a face. That makes an even _better_ photo, and Prompto can’t help himself from chuckling at it.

“Your turn.” Gladiolus holds out his hand for his camera.

“W-What?” Prompto looks between Gladiolus’ face and his hand.

“You heard me.” Gladiolus smiles down at him. “Just rub her neck, right here.” He demonstrates slowly, and the chocobo trills quietly.

Prompto swallows. “Okay.” He lifts the strap over his head. “Just be… careful with it?”

“Of course.” Gladiolus takes Prompto's camera from him and squints down at it.

Prompto steps closer to the chocobo. Her beak looks _awfully_ sharp when he’s this close. He strokes her feathers. They’re so _soft_ that Prompto wants to rub his face against them. He would, if Gladiolus wasn’t standing _right there_ with his camera.

He pats her under her chin, and the chocobo leans her head against his arm. Prompto smiles. His heart feels too small for all the happiness in his chest. He flexes his fingers and the chocobo makes that trilling noise again.

“You’re _adorable_ ,” Prompto tells the chocobo. He wants to kidnap her and take her everywhere. Or to never have to leave the ranch. He could stay here forever, feeding the chocobos and helping with the race track…

His camera clicks a few times and Prompto shakes his head. He’d been daydreaming, staring off into space.

Gladiolus is looking down at his camera and smiling.

“You better not have made me look _weird_ ,” Prompto says, edging away from the chocobo and closer to Gladiolus.

“Nah.” Gladiolus shakes his head. “You look great.” He passes the camera back.

Prompto squints down at the photos. He doesn’t even want to look at himself in them. The chocobo looks nice, her feathers glinting gold in the sunlight. He hadn’t noticed when he was standing so close.

“I guess,” he mumbles, switching his camera off. “Think the shower’s free?”

“Probably.” Gladiolus shrugs. “You can go ahead of me.”

Prompto shakes his head. “But I lost-”

“And you look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.” Gladiolus gently tugs Prompto’s arm, setting him in the direction of the caravan and pushing lightly at his shoulders. “Go on.”

Prompto stumbles a little. Walks. Well, _fine_. He glances sideways, but Gladiolus isn’t following him.

Prompto stops and glances back. Gladiolus is looking at the chocobo, his expression soft. His face is lit with the last of the fading sunlight. He looks like a painting, he’s so beautiful.

Prompto sucks in a breath and turns back to the caravan. It’s only a trick of the light. And Gladiolus calling him cute, well that’s a trick too. He probably meant cute the way chocobos and puppies are cute. Or Noctis _told_ him to say it. It _has_ to be something like that. There’s no way, no _way_ -

 

Ignis is in the shower when he steps into the caravan. Noctis is sitting on the edge of the bed, towelling his hair.

“Hey.” Noctis nods at him and then disappears under the towel. “Did Gladio find you?” His voice is muffled.

“He was looking?” Prompto pauses in the middle of taking off his boots.

“Yeah.” Noctis tosses the towel onto the bed. “I, uh.” He clears his throat and looks away. “Might’ve said something?”

Prompto drops his boot. It clatters down the caravan stairs and bangs into the door. “Something?” He repeats in a strangled voice.

Noctis shrugs and stares down at the bed. His fingers are twisting in the blankets. “He was worried. So maybe I told him not to give up.” He peeks up at Prompto from behind his wet hair. “Was I wrong?”

Prompto takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. His heart is jumping between his throat and his chest. He feels all jumbled up inside. He staggers towards the bed and sits down, knocking Noctis’ knee out of the way. Leans forward and puts his head in his hands.

“Prom?” Noctis touches his fingers to the back of Prompto’s neck. They’re cold, the _nice_ kind of cold, like ice cream during summer.

Prompto shakes his head. There’s too many thoughts swirling in his mind. Too many screaming voices. He can’t separate them. “He called me _cute_ ,” Prompto mumbles through his fingers.

Noctis’ fingers curl against Prompto’s skin. “You _are_ cute,” he murmurs.

Prompto shakes his head harder.

“Are too.” Noctis leans his head against Prompto’s shoulder. His hair is still wet. “Two against one. Three, really. Iggy would agree.”

Prompto groans and leans further forward. His face is hot enough that he almost wishes Noctis was touching it instead of his neck. Like sticking his head into the freezer when he came back from a long run before school, cooling his sweating face.

“But...” He drops his hands away, squeezes them into fists on his knees and leans his forehead on them. “What if I’m not good enough-”

“Gladio thinks you are.” Noctis interrupts. His arm slides down Prompto’s side and squeezes him into a half-hug. “I think you are.”

Prompto shakes his head, back and forth until Noctis puts a hand in Prompto’s hair and gently presses down with his fingers. He stops moving his head. Rubs at his eyes. Noctis is still leaning against his back, heavy and warm.

“Come on, Prom.” Noctis toys with Prompto’s hair. “Have a shower after Iggy gets out and stop worrying so much.”

Prompto huffs. It’s not that _easy_ , he wants to argue. If it was, he’d do it all the time. Besides, they’ve got more to worry about than things like this - more important things, _better_ things. Noctis shouldn’t be wasting his time on a _waste of time_.

The door to the bathroom rattles open, letting out a gust of steam. Prompto hunches further. He doesn’t want to see Ignis when he’s like this. He doesn’t want Ignis to see him like this.

“Noct? What’s wrong with Prompto?” Ignis’ voice is quiet, concerned.

“Stomach-ache.” Noctis says smoothly. “Ate too much, didn’t you?”

Prompto nods. “Uh-huh.” He lets out a shaky, relieved breath.

“Is there anything I can do?” Ignis steps closer.

“Actually.” Noctis lifts off Prompto’s back. “Can you tell Prom how cute he is?”

“What?!” Prompto jerks upright fast enough to regret it. His face is _burning_ red.

Ignis clears his throat and looks them both over. “Is there any reason why _I_ have to be the one to tell him?”

“Yes.” Noctis nods. “Definitely. Has to be you.”

“I see.” Ignis adjusts his glasses and looks Prompto over. Like he’s _studying_ him.

Prompto covers his face with his hands and groans into his palms.

“Do I have to call him cute, or would adorable suffice?” Ignis sounds like he’s smiling.

“Nope, that works.” Noctis sounds like he's grinning. Like a _complete traitor_. “Thanks, Iggy.”

“Of course.” He can hear the springs creak as Ignis sits down on the couch.

“You are the _worst_ ,” Prompto mutters as he drops his hands and glares at Noctis.

“You’re just grumpy because I’m right.” Noctis bumps his shoulder against Prompto’s. “Go on. Shower’s free.”

 

Prompto can almost relax under the cool water. It washes away the heat in his face, calms him down. Except when he gets out of the shower, Gladiolus is probably going to _be_ there, and that makes Prompto want to stay in the tiny bathroom forever. Or until the water runs out - which it will probably do soon. Leaving none for Gladiolus.

He turns the water off so fast he bangs his fingers against the knobs.

 

When he comes out of the bathroom he notices Gladiolus sitting on the edge of the bed. And _only_ Gladiolus.

“W-Where’s Noct? And Iggy?” Prompto’s voice is higher than normal. His hair is dripping cold water down his back, making his skin burst with goosebumps.

Gladiolus looks down at his hands. “Noct went for a walk. And took Iggy.”

“O-Oh.” Prompto lets out a shaky breath.

The air feels like it’s pressing against him, crawling down his nose and into his throat, tugging him to the floor. Squeezing his heart, his stomach. His fingers tighten around the towel in his hand. He needs to sit down and dry his hair. But Gladiolus is on the bed. And if he sits on the couch - it’ll _mean_ something, won’t it?

Prompto hesitates. Takes a deep breath.

His knee bumps against Gladiolus’ when he sits down. It’s _awkward_ , just like he’s awkward. He should have sat on the couch, he’s an _idiot_. He fiddles with the towel. Even his fingers are trembling. He bows his head and rubs at his hair.

Gladiolus hums softly. “You missed a spot.”

Prompto’s heart leaps into his throat. If he could talk, he’d say that he did _not_ , but he can’t even _breathe_.

“Let me.” Gladiolus’ fingers curl around Prompto’s, taking the towel from him.

Prompto drops his hands into his lap. Tangles them together to stop them from shaking.

Gladiolus hums as he dries Prompto’s hair. Prompto tries not to move, not to think. Gladiolus is just being nice, but he has no _reason_ to be nice. Noctis was wrong, Gladiolus is wrong, everything is _wrong_ -

“There.” Gladiolus pulls the towel away and drops it behind Prompto. “You wouldn’t want to catch a cold, right?”

“R-Right.” Prompto clears his throat. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Gladiolus smiles at him.

Prompto looks down. Twists his fingers together hard enough to hurt.

Gladiolus stands up. He has to duck not to bang his head on the low ceiling. He’s too _big_.

He whistles as he heads into the bathroom. A song Prompto doesn’t recognise - maybe it’s not even a _real_ song. It’s nice to listen to, though.

 

He’s _almost_ asleep when the bathroom door opens and the flash of light wakes him up.

Gladiolus hisses something under his breath and flicks the switch.

Prompto twists his head towards the bedroom window. The lights from outside peek through gaps in the blinds. He lets out a sighing breath and snuggles further into the blankets. They smell a little like chocobos, but it’s a _nice_ smell. He curls around the pillow and tries to relax.

He can hear Gladiolus moving around the caravan. He’s being _quiet_ , but Prompto can still hear rustling. Every time he thinks he’s about to fall asleep, Gladiolus makes _noise_.

The next time it happens, Prompto is going to say something. He doesn’t know what, but it’ll be _something_.

The bed shifts as weight settles into it. Gladiolus. Bed.

Prompto feels suddenly wide awake. He tries not to move, not to _breathe_ as Gladiolus settles himself under the blankets.

He _should_ fake a yawn. Roll over, as far away as he can get. He’s not good enough for Gladiolus, will _never_ be good enough-

Gladiolus yawns loudly. Stretches his arms. Bumps a hand against Prompto’s knee.

Prompto sucks in a breath and waits for Gladiolus to move his hand. Except he _doesn’t_. His hand stays on Prompto’s knee, warm and _there_.

He should say something. Move. _Do_ something. Prompto’s breath shudders out of him, hideously loud. Loud enough for Gladiolus to hear it.

Prompto waits, squeezing his eyes shut. At least his face is buried in the pillow. He doesn’t have to worry about Gladiolus seeing how much he's blushing. Gladiolus is going to say something terrible. Or he’ll _laugh_ and it will all be some horrible, twisted joke. Maybe Noctis and Ignis were in on it, too. That’s why they left. They’re out somewhere with the chocobos, laughing about how _stupid_ Prompto is for believing them.

Gladiolus’ fingers gently squeeze Prompto’s knee. “You don’t mind, right?” He whispers.

Prompto swallows. It feels like his heart is glue in his throat. “I don’t mind,” he lies.

“Good.” Gladiolus lets out a soft sigh. “Night.”

“Night,” Prompto echoes.

 

It doesn’t take long for Gladiolus to fall asleep. His hand drops away from Prompto’s knee. Prompto squirms away, rolls over to face the caravan wall. There will be chocobos in the morning. Fluffy, perfect chocobos, who won’t care about how he looks or what he’s thinking. The only thing that will matter is if Prompto has food for them. If he strokes their feathers in the right way.

Compared to humans, chocobos are _easy_. Not that he deserves _them_ , either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chocobos make almost everything better~
> 
> (for fun and giggles, the next song on the album after [the title song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=keZEfasKgFs) is called '[no good can come of this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EitgMwMDTHw)')


End file.
